Chapter 62

Chapter 62

word count 1535

The van driver and his helper eased Jeannie's wheelchair down the ramp to bring her from the vehicle down to the sidewalk and rolled her to rest next to Buzz. Next, the two technicians propelled both wheelchairs down the walk, up a makeshift ramp and into the rental the new Albany police department had secured for them while they were in the hospital.. A stern looking woman, looming tall, gray-haired, dressed in an old-fashioned flowered house dress and practical white oxfords, stood with hands on hips, surveying her new charges.

"Well, there you are! I'm your new live-in. I'll be taking care of all your needs during your recovery period." Her eyes glinted like steel in a flushed, wrinkled face which was haloed by gray wiry hair. "I'm Mrs. Dunn."

"How do you, Mrs. Dunn! it's a pleasure to meet you! I am afraid I will not be much help at helping you to settle in,, as this is the first time I have laid eyes on the new place.." asked Jeannie. as she surveyed the stark,, yet adequate surroundings.. It was not her home,, but in light of all that had happened over the course of the past week or so,, it would do nicely..

"Certainly, madam! I've never met a kitchen or a household, for that matter, I couldn't conquer!"

"Well, hey there, hon! Would you roll me out to the fridge. I want to get a beer and a snack!" Buzz said.

"I beg your pardon, sir! My name is Mrs. Dunn, and I'm not your 'hon' and your discharge instructions specifically say no alcohol. You're on medication!"

"What?" Buzz could feel blood rushing to his face.

Jeannie worked hard stifle a smile. "I think Mrs. Dunn has your best interests at heart," she said.

"Like hell!"

"Buzz!" his wife retorted. "Mrs. Dunn, I think Buzz and I could benefit with some time in the living room, please. And perhaps some ice water to drink, or green tea?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Miller!" Mrs. Dunn replied. She shot Buzz a death stare before starting to push Jeannie toward the living room. Next, she came back for Buzz and bumped him along at a rollicking speed.

"Hey, take it easy, sweet...I mean, Mrs. Dunn, please!" Buzz said, holding on for life.

Later, with their drinks in hand, Buzz and Jeannie sat, enjoying each other's company. They were quiet, but in a peaceful way.

"well,, it's not home,, but anywhere we are together as a family will become our home.." Jeannie said whistfully,, as she thought  about all they had lost in the explosion.. "Everything looks strange, but in a good way, like something new just waiting to be discovered."

"I miss my wide screen TV," Buzz had the remote to the meager 30" tv that came with the house in hand already but paused and laid it on table instead. Sitting here and talking to his wife, it felt good.

Jeannie watched him. She looked down at her hands on her lap, lost in thought. Finally, she spoke. "Buzz, that other woman, Trudy...did you know her long?"

Glass of water in hand, he wobbled the glass but got it back before it spilled. He shot his wife a frightened look. He wanted to think about his answer. "I really don't know how long. It was nothing, Jeannie. We weren't getting along so well, and I ran into her at the restaurant where I get coffee. And you can see what a flirt she is."

"Buzz, did you screw her?"

The question took him by surprise. His first thought was he had no idea how to answer. But next, heart pounding, he saw red as his blood went to an instant boil. He knew his volcanic anger was actually a line of defense to avoid the question, but the anger genie had zoomed out of the bottle and there was no stopping it now.

"DAMMIT, Jeannie! What kind of a question is that? DON'T YOU QUESTION ME?" He struggled to try and get out of the chair, his hand already in a fist, his eyes steaming.

Jeannie cowered in the chair, covering her face with her hands. Her heart had taken off on a rhythm so fast she thought she might faint from the way it raced. Her pulse rang in her ears. She could feel icy tears rolling down her face, chilling streams against a flushed, hot like a frying pan surface. And tiny whimpers filled the air, pathetic, weak, despicable noises, and then she realized they were hers, her sounds, pleading for mercy. She was sobbing. The cries seemed to come from outside of her, and yet they were hers. Was it all going to start again with Buzz, his anger, his violence? She'd felt so strong, fighting the cancer, fighting for her marriage. Was Buzz incapable of being again the man she wished him to be? Was he too far gone to come back? Her world was tumbling, tumbling fast.

Buzz, fist in mid air, saw his wife and stopped. He knew he had raised his hand to her many times, but this was the first he stopped to see her, really see her. It must have been her weakness, her illness. It gave him pause. He usually would have hauled off and swung already, fist to body, killing soft flesh, in a rage, thoughtless and angry. But this time he stopped, then slumped in the chair and started to cry in rolling, cavernous sobs. He hadn't sobbed like this since he was a little kid, when he'd watched his own father pound on his mother without mercy. But now, he needed to cry.

It was an illness. He knew it. Chasing after Trudy, all the women. What a sorry excuse of a husband he was! His job, there was a barrage of good and evil, danger and reprieve, ups and downs. It came at him all day, every day. And women like Trudy, they were his heroin, the great release. Jeannie had lost her role in his life as the rigors, the stresses, pushed her right out of the picture. What did a demure, thoughtful, gentle woman have in his nightmare? He'd get angry. At first he convinced himself the anger was at her for being so inadequate, so unable to join him in his madness. She had no idea of his pain, and he was fully aware of the fact. He wanted to lash out at her for her inability to feel his anguish. But lately, he'd come to realize he'd been directing his ire at the wrong person. He should have been mad at himself for being such a loser, for dealing with the pain in the worst way possible, by damaging other lives and dragging them down with him.

He knew it was wrong. And still, the women tormented him. Every time he got upset, some piece of beautiful ass would beckon him in his misery, taunt him with the fix, the great release. But they were temporary releases that left no permanence, no satisfaction, only a craving for more, a necessity to continue the cycle.

He could fight it; he could win. But it wouldn't be easy.

"I'm sorry, Jeannie! Oh babe, I just lost it. I'm so sorry!" He pushed the wheels of his chair, making them turn to take him closer to her. He grabbed her hands in his and kissed them.

"Jeannie, I screwed her. I was ruthless, but that was then, and this is now, and I promise to make it up to you. Please, work with me and let's love each other again."

"Of course, Buzz!" she said, tears streaming. "I already love you! I never stopped."

Mrs. Dunn watched from the hallway. She swiped a tear away and smiled, then turned to get the couple more ice water and some sandwiches from the kitchen.

***

Trudy and John sat face to face at the kitchen table, each very still. They'd sent Elliot off to play with friends, and it was only the two of them now in the house. Trudy fought back thoughts of Buzz, and Gil, and tried to concentrate on her husband.

"So what do you have to say for yourself?" she asked. Even as she spoke, visions of Buzz and Gil taunted her. Such sexy men! But dammit, John was her husband. He owed her something.

"Trudy, who in the hell do you think you're trying to fool? I've seen the way you look at other men."

The way you used to look at me, John thought. His blood ran cold in the realization that he was more than likely just a passing fad for Trudy, someone whose profile intrigued her at the moment, the bookish fellow, the intellectual type. But it was over. The novelty had worn off for her long ago. That was obvious. A woman like Trudy had no long term interest, no stability. The grass was always greener.

But the sex had been so decadent and delicious. Perhaps he was just as at fault. She had been a novelty for him, too. He'd never had a woman who turned him on so much, an unlikely catch for him, the impossible dream that came true.

But his heart raced as thoughts of Elliot came to mind. That poor kid! He wasn't the boy's real father, but he loved him like it. And poor Elliot had no vote in any of this, no way to play a role in his own destiny.

Elliot watched from around the corner. He'd come back to get some extra snacks for him and his friends and heard his parents fighting. He'd lingered to eavesdrop, and now he felt a white hot panic building inside. Were they going to get a divorce? What would happen to him?